Elaborate Lives
by Seraph2
Summary: "I just want to touch your heart. May this confession be the start." (A Spot romance featuring the song Elaborate Lives from the musical Aida.)


Disclaimer: Spot Conlon and Tibby's belong to Disney, the song "Elaborate Lives" belongs to Elton John and Tim Rice, and Lydia James belongs to me.  
  
Elaborate Lives  
  
Spot Conlon stood outside the back entrance to the small Manhattan theatre, leaning against the cold brick wall. Through the thin door, he could hear beautiful voices, an angelic chorus wassailing the audience with the melodious chords of "O Holy Night!" For the thousandth time that evening, Spot patted the pocket of his thin winter coat, assuring himself that the small cardboard box was still there.   
  
A policeman strolled by, humming in tune to the carolers' song. "Good evening, Mr. Conlon," he said cordially, tipping his cap slightly to the young man.  
  
"Evenin', Officer McLean," Spot replied, chuckling to himself. Every night this week, Spot had waited at the theatre doors, and every night Officer McLean had greeted him, yet he still hadn't realized that this young man was, in fact, the roguish newsie leader who started fights and had landed himself in the Refuge multiple times. It was strange what a difference the cover of darkness could make in one's appearance.  
  
"Sounds like the show's almost over," the officer commented. Spot nodded. "O Holy Night!" was always the last song of the Christmas pageant, and he could hear the final notes of the last verse, sung by an exquisite solo soprano.  
  
"Well, I'm sure I'll see you again, sir," the policeman said. "Good night."  
  
"'Night," Spot replied, distracted by the sounds from within the theatre. The music had stopped, and he could hear the crescendo of applause as the performers took their final bows. It would be only a few moments now. Again, Spot's hand traveled to his coat pocket, this time reaching inside and extracting a small, white, cardboard box. He smiled apprehensively and replaced the box in his pocket, just as an attractive young lady walked out of the theatre.  
  
"Did you like the show?" she asked, her lips and cheeks still tinged with ruby red traces of her hastily removed stage makeup.  
  
"Of course," Spot replied, taking the girl's gloved hand in his own bare one. "You sounded even better than last night." The girl laughed, her voice chiming like silvery sleigh bells in the silence of the night. She was a few inches shorter than Spot, and her blond ringlets bounced against her shoulders as she and Spot strolled down the street together. Her blue eyes sparkled as a smile lit up her face.  
  
"Are we going to Tibby's tonight?" she asked.  
  
"Where else?" Spot teased. "I know it's your favorite restaurant." Almost three years ago, on their first date, Spot had introduced the girl to Tibby's, and since then they had eaten there frequently.   
  
As Spot and the girl walked into Tibby's and found their favorite table, a waiter approached them.  
  
"Spot," he said warmly, "Lydia. Will you be having your usual meal?"  
  
"Yes, please," Spot said. The waiter left, and Spot turned back to Lydia. The small restaurant was almost empty---people were either at a church service or at home, eating their Christmas Eve dinners. The other newsies would go to bed early tonight, waking up Christmas morning to candy canes and presents that Santa (who looked extraordinarily like Mr. Kloppman) had brought in the night. "I haven't seen much of you," Spot commented, once again taking Lydia's hand in his.  
  
"Don't be silly," Lydia giggled, "you've walked me home every night this week!"  
  
"I know...but it's not a very long walk. And I never see you during the day anymore."  
  
"I guess I have been busy with rehearsals..." Lydia trailed off, staring at the single candle flickering in a tenement window across the street.  
  
"I know," Spot comforted her. "And it's partly my fault. I've been trying to sell extra papers so that I could buy the newsies something for Christmas."  
  
"What did you get them?" Lydia asked, delighted. By now, she knew each Brooklyn and Manhattan newsie by name, and she loved hearing stories of their various adventures and escapades.  
  
"A tree," Spot replied. "It's not very big, but they like it anyway. Especially the little kids. They've seen the huge trees in rich peoples' houses while they're selling, and they've wanted one of their own since the beginning of December."  
  
"I've seen those trees, also," Lydia said wistfully. "But I'm not sure if I'd want one like that. I don't think I'd want such a big house or all of those servants, either."  
  
"Yeah, I don't think I could stand wearing a suit and tie everyday," Spot joked, and Lydia laughed.  
  
"Besides, I probably won't ever have that much money anyway," Lydia pointed out with a small sigh. "Singers don't make enough to pay for expensive homes or a housekeeping staff."  
  
"Neither do newsies," Spot agreed, "although I'm not going to be a newsie my whole life. But I also don't want to be some big business-owner like Pulitzer and have a heart attack whenever the stock market drops or sales go down."  
  
"And I just can't picture you gouging kids to make money," Lydia said. She hadn't been in New York City during the strike, but she had moved there soon after, soon enough to hear the story of it dozens of times, and even to read the newspaper reports of Snyder's trial.  
  
"Nah, I wouldn't do that," Spot said. "Thanks," he added, as the waiter brought over Tibby's famous hot ham sandwich, divided into two sections, supported by two plates. Spot handed one plate to Lydia, along with the larger of the sections.  
  
"Oh, you can have that," she said. "I'm not really that hungry. Just tired."  
  
Spot's face filled with concern. "Do you feel all right?" he asked, instinctively reaching out to tough Lydia's forehead with his own palm. He had faint memories of his mother doing that, testing his temperature with her hands, well-worn yet still soft, and then tucking him into the family's only bed with a bowl of steaming chicken broth.   
  
"I'm fine, Spot," Lydia assured him. "Really. I'm just tired. I'll go to bed early tonight and then sleep in tomorrow morning."  
  
Spot removed his palm from Lydia's forehead, his lips again stretching into a smile. "Good, because Medda's having a Christmas party tomorrow night, and I'd like you to be my guest." He took a deep breath. "And I'd like something else."  
  
"What, Spot?"  
  
"Well, I'm not exactly sure how to say this," Spot began. "I've wanted to for weeks now, but...I don't know. You've been so busy and tired, and I've had to help get the lodging house ready for Christmas..."  
  
"What is it, Spot?" Lydia repeated.  
  
"Well..." Spot took one more deep breath and then pulled the box out of his pocket. He slid off his chair and knelt on the restaurant floor, balancing himself on one knee.  
  
"I love you, Lydia James, and I've been waiting three years to ask you this. Will you marry me?" Spot opened the box, offering it up to Lydia. Inside, resting on a pillow of black velvet, was a thin gold band, topped with a perfect diamond, its brilliant facets glittering in the dim light of the restaurant.   
  
Lydia's face, tense with impatience, softened into an overjoyed smile. "Yes," she whispered. Spot held her delicate ivory hand in his and slid the ring gently over her finger. She leaned forward, and they share a sweet, blissful kiss.  
  
Elaborate Lives  
  
We all lead such elaborate lives  
  
Wild ambitions in our sights  
  
How an affair of the heart survives  
  
Days apart and hurried nights  
  
Seems quite unbelievable to me  
  
I don't want to live like that  
  
Seems quite unbelievable to me  
  
I don't want to love like that  
  
I just want our time to be  
  
Slower and gentler,  
  
Wiser,  
  
Free  
  
We all live in extravagant times  
  
Playing games we can't all win  
  
Unintended emotional crimes  
  
Take some out, take others in  
  
I'm so tired of all we're going through  
  
I don't want to live like that  
  
I'm so tired of all we're going through  
  
I don't want to love like that  
  
I just want to be with you  
  
Now and forever,  
  
Peaceful,  
  
True  
  
This may not be the moment  
  
To tell you face to face  
  
But I could wait forever  
  
For the perfect time and place  
  
We all lead such elaborate lives  
  
We don't know whose words are true  
  
Strangers, lovers, husbands, wives  
  
Hard to know who's loving who  
  
Too many choices tear us apart   
  
I don't want to live like that  
  
Too many choices tear us apart  
  
I don't want to love like that  
  
I just want to touch your heart  
  
May this confession  
  
Be the start  
  
---From the musical Aida  
  
Lyrics by Tim Rice  
  
A/N: I've been obsessed with this song ever since I got the Broadway Today CD, and I finally gave in to temptation and wrote a songfic with it. Can anyone think of a better title and/or summary, though? Reviews are appreciated! 


End file.
